


a spoonful of sugar

by Star_less



Series: P.O.R.T.A.L verse [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Accidents, Baby Tony, Bedwetting, Bottles of Milk, Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on deviantArt, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little Wanda, Littles Are Known, Non-Sexual Age Play, One Shot, Reading, Sick Character, Sleepy Tony, Sleepy Tony Stark, Storytelling, bottle feeding, caregiver steve, caregiver thor, everyone gets along and things are fluffy and lovely, little loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: After having no choice but to share a bath with the Jotunn-blooded Loki, Tony contracts a fever. Join the sickly Tony, his sleep deprived (but faring well) caregiver Steve and bratty fellow little Wanda as Tony tries to combat his fever in the early hours of the morning and beyond.





	a spoonful of sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633895) by [Star_less](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less). 



> This was meant to come directly after ‘Dandelions’ and is the result of what happens at the end of ‘Bubbles.’ If you’re sat there thinking, ‘but, OP, you’ve just shown us Aftermath, and Tony is grown in that!’ ...Again, I’ve fallen victim to that thing of being so excited to show you a new fic that I just want to get it out there rather than waiting for stuff to be written and uploaded in its proper chronological order. I’m going to re-order it... or I might just take it out of this verse. *shrug*

The sound of a sneeze filled the dark silence of the bedroom, followed by a long wet snivel. 

“Papa,” a voice choked, hands splayed out, panicking as they hit the duvet over and over again. Papa must be there. He had to be there. He would make it all better. 

“Tony, darlin’, I’m here...” Steve grumbled, his voice teetering on the edge between sleep and wake, fringes of drowsiness holding his voice together. He winced in the darkness at Tony slapping his chest - in his panic the child was hitting rather hard, not knowing his own strength - and caught Tony’s hand in his own just as the boy was about to aim another hit. His large thumbs trailed over Tony’s knuckles, slowly, delicately, until Tony went limp with submission and melted back into the bed, breathing rattled but steady.  
“What’s the matter, baby?” Steve cooed, turning on the desk lamp and illuminating his little one in a dull orange glow - just enough to see the tears on his cheeks. It was an entirely rhetorical question, of course, since Tony had contracted a raging fever from Loki, and there was little either of them could do other than watch and wait until Tony rode it out. His virus was just entering it’s second week, and Steve was by no means a doctor but even he knew viruses shouldn’t have lasted that long. In a last ditch attempt to help his poor doll (and save one another from yet more sleep deprivation) he had shoved Tony under Bruce’s nose the second he said he wasn’t feeling so little. Bruce had checked him over once, twice, three times and at long last shrugged and said, “He has a virus. He contracted it from a Jotunn. Of course it’s going to take its time.”

Tony had not replied, simply lay and snuffled and nestled into his Papa, damp face nestling into Steve’s neck as though he could suck up every last drop of love and comfort Papa had within him, like some sort of... emotional vampire. Steve gently probed again, one hand brushing through Tony’s hair even though it was wet and plastered to Tony’s forehead. “Mm? What can Papa do for you, doll?”

Tony was silent for a while other than the odd heavy snivel, near forcing Steve into asking again before he finally spoke up. “Milk,” he pleaded, rubbing his eyes, and Steve nodded. Of course. What else?

He had lifted Tony to his hip and drifted down to the common room, settling the small onto the couch with a blanket pooled all around him. Of course, Tony was having none of that, and the second his bum was down he fell to whimpering pitifully - the wounded kind of whimper that rooted itself in Steve’s heart. Steve froze at the midpoint between the common room and the kitchen, turning to face Tony again, and there he was with his hands outstretched and his eyes glinting upsettedly.

“You sure do have Papa wrapped around your little finger, huh..” Steve chuckled lightly as he moved in to lift Tony again. He carried him to the kitchen and set him down on the countertop, just a little way away from where he was preparing Tony’s milk. 

Tony was much too big to fit on the counter now, much too big, but it was times like this - times when heat punched its way right up to his cheeks and forced aches to flutter down his arms and Papa was always there with a cooed out, ‘oh my poor gorgeous boy’ that Tony forgot (and Papa seemed to forget, too.)  
He sat on the counter and watched wide eyed through to the dimpled screen of the microwave as around and around his milk turned on the table, pulling him into some sort of enchanting trance. “Milk,” Tony gurgled out through the ache in his throat, snivelling, hand plastered to the humming screen. Still snivelling, he looked to Papa in his pajamas and pleaded as though Papa could magic his milk out of thin air.

“I know, Tony, I know.” Steve said, reaching out and taking Tony’s hand in his own. It was clammy and sticky, but Steve did not flinch. “Patience, baby.”  
~

Patience was had; patience was had and it earned Tony a full bottle of warm milk. Tony had whined and clamoured to feed himself, lolling lifelessly against Steve on the couch with the nipple of the bottle hanging half in half out of his mouth as though it would sap all of his energy just to suckle. Any attempts by Steve to overtake - “baby, let me, you must be so thirsty!” were met with whines of upset and angry swats - so Steve had no choice but to sit and cuddle his little one, trying not to grimace at the way Tony’s chest rattled as he breathed out and wrenched a breath into his lungs, out and back in. He sounded chesty, on the verge of coughing as something rattled a little too menacingly in his throat - but Steve was rather glad to notice that nothing emerged. Perhaps they were finally finished riding out the storm.  
At a loss of what else to do, the supersoldier’s gaze settled on the newly-installed toybox a little of the way across the room. “Baby,” Steve asked thoughtfully, large hand rubbing circles of comfort into Tony’s chest, “would you like Papa to read you a story?”

Tony’s eyes felt heavy

(were nearly closed entirely)

but he nodded. 

Steve ducked across the room, selected a book and returned, book opened on his lap in a matter of seconds. Tony tiredly leaned over to look at the pages. “The Tale of Peter Rabbit,” Steve narrated as softly but as theatrically as he possibly could while giving Tony a knowing look. Tony nodded with approval, sluggishly nudged the nub of the bottle further into his mouth. 

An indication for the story to begin. 

“Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter. They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir-  
tree...” Steve read carefully, mindful to show Tony the pictures. Now, if you had asked him, he never would have assumed Tony would enjoy reading books like this — books that were destined to be read to a very young child. But oh, how Tony did... it reminded him of Jarvis and the stories read in his childhood, was as much as Steve could decipher.  
Even right now, as Tony lay and suckled and let Steve’s voice drift melodically in and out of his stuffy ears — somewhere along the way Steve’s soft American twang died out and was replaced by a crisp, softly-spoken British accent. Somehow - despite his throat aching every time he so much as took a sip - the story, the warmth in his belly, the voice in his ears encouraged him to drink more and more. The more he drank, the warmer his belly felt; the warmer his belly felt, the heavier his eyes grew. Tony was just on the fringes of sleep, Peter Rabbit dissolving away from his ears and the warm calmness of the living room dying out when he took another gulp of milk... a gulp of milk that forced its way down his throat but didn’t quite get there, getting tangled up midway and catapulting him away from his dreamworld and into a coughing fit. He spluttered on his milk, attempting to heave a breath into his lungs but not able to get it there, instead becoming overtaken by a series of biting, barking wet coughs that made his mouth sour, replacing the sweet milk with... with yuck. His eyes widened, his hand blindly reaching for Steve. “Pa.. elp,” he whimpered, trying to croak out his words through his coughs and... and failing rather miserably, to be frank.  
He was fortunate that Steve was able to understand Tony extremely well; that and Steve having experience of this sort of thing, of course. 

“Oh, darling,” Steve cooed in concern, snapping the book closed at once and quickly scanning the room for their spare tub of Vick (he had made sure to buy spares and positively slathered Tony in the stuff every chance he got whenever he fell ill)  
He pulled the coughing boy into his lap and rose, periodically rubbing his back and waiting for the splutters to die down a little bit. “Sh-sh-sh,” he encouraged in soft coos between every pat of back — sounding like, to Tony’s fever addled brain, a choo-choo train. Slowly, the coughing calmed. By that point Steve had grabbed the Vick, done two slow laps of the living room and impersonated lots of choo choo trains. Tony was giggling away to himself, smiling the widest Steve had ever seen Tony smile in weeks. Steve chuckled too, rolling up Tony’s pajama t-shirt and slathering his chest in the eucalyptus oil with just a couple gentle pats and rolls of his hand.  
The gentle gestures seemed to tug Tony’s eyes further and further closed - and as the sharp eucalyptus oil invaded his nostrils and dwindled down his throat he grew tired, now able to breathe deep.  
“Choo choo,” he whispered with a point at Steve before falling to soft sleepy giggles - the tips of his fingers slipping into his mouth.

Steve chuckled too, giving Tony a tiny rosebud of a kiss as he rolled down the boy’s t-shirt. He settled on the sofa once more, Tony’s head in his lap, book open once more. “‘Now, my dears,’ He narrated, trying his best motherly voice, “...said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, ‘you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don’t go into Mr. McGregor’s garden... your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor. Now run along, and don’t get into mischief. I am going out.’”  
He read comfortably like this only for a short while as Tony drifted off to sleep. Turning a page, the elder was about to close the book and get Tony cosy when—

“Daddy,” the sound of a pouting, higher-pitched voice floated down the stairs and landed in a stroppy heap in front of him. It was Wanda; trailing her Build a Bear bunny and her unicorn Pillow Pet behind her. 

—there was an interruption.

“Ah, there’s my little lady!” Steve cooed, voice radiating fondness despite it being 4:30 in the morning and Daddy usually disallowed Wanda being awake in the night unless something was the matter; the little girl stilled in surprise at the lack of sternness to Steve’s voice. Steve, on the other hand, found himself praying that Wanda was fine - oh please, darling, please go back to bed - for Wanda became even more of a limpet than Tony did when she fell ill.  
“What is the matter?”  
Steve quietly set aside Peter Rabbit.  
Wanda eyed the book enviously. “Make Tony stop coughing,” she demanded with a whine, squeezing her bunny’s ears. “He has kept me awake all night long,” the girl wailed over dramatically with a stomp of her foot. 

“Princess, Tony isn’t feeling very well,” Steve reminded gently, stroking Tony’s head as he whimpered at the sudden intrusion. Steve was pleased to notice that just the tone of his voice was enough to melt the frown from Wanda’s face. And judging by the way Wanda had hiked up her pajama bottoms (not very well) Steve suspected that Tony’s fever had not woken Wanda in the slightest. Seeing her lip quivering, Steve silently beckoned her forward until she was rocking nervously in front of him.

“Is Tony getting better?” Wanda asked softly, her hand reaching out to pet Tony’s hair lightly as if he were a puppy. While the young girl was distracted, Steve worked on tidying her pajamas. “Yes dolly, he is,” Steve murmured, but trailed off as he realised Wanda’s bottoms were damp.  
Ah.  
Of course.  
He looked toward her, cupped her cheek. “...Darling, did you have an accident?”

Wanda stopped.  
In an instant, something shattered and it was as though sickly Tony Stark wasn’t even there. Wanda’s eyes watered, her chin wobbled, but she didn’t cry. She nodded silently and looked at Daddy through her long tear tipped lashes, sniffing heavily as Daddy stroked her cheek with his thumb and whipped the glittering tears away before they could properly fall. She said nothing. Steve was so used to her nightmares that he almost expected her to unravel in an instant, blurt out whatever had been troubling her mind... but today there was nothing. In fact, all she seemed concerned about...

“Pinkie Pie,” she said mournfully, looking down at the dark stain covering the pink pony motif.

...was the state of her pajamas.  
“Never mind, pumpkin, we can clean you and Pinkie Pie up in no time.” Steve cooed. “No problem. Why don’t you go to the bathroom while I get Tony cosy?” The supersoldier requested, indicating the closest bathroom. “I think your unicorn jammies are in the dryer,” he added, watching as his oldest, appeased, trotted off toward the bathroom with a nod.  
As the silence gathered in the living room once more, Steve looked down toward Tony with a sigh. He looked cosy, his eyelids having finally fluttered shut just minutes before; locked in the loving drowsiness of a cuddle with Papa. “Sorry kiddo..” Steve sighed, shifting Tony away from his cocoon and wincing as Tony whimpered the instant one finger of cold air hit him.  
Luckily, Tony was floating somewhere along the fringes of sleepiness; all it took was for Steve to stroke Tony’s cheeks and hum softly before the little one slumped into sleep once more. Steve would have loved to have said he had some sort of magic touch, but alas that little trick came from Ma Rogers herself. Quite where Ma had learned magic Steve was unsure, although he was glad that he had inherited it from her, too.

“Daddy?” Piped a voice from the bathroom. 

“Coming, sweetpea.” Steve called, soaking up one last look at his slumbering baby boy before he disappeared off toward the bathroom.  
~

“Daddy, I want to read a story too!” Wanda said earnestly as she skipped from the bathroom, Steve’s hand tightly holding her own. She had been re-dressed in her unicorn PJs, the washing machine had been fed and was humming softly to itself as it worked, and Wanda’s legs had been cleaned up with bubblebath so she smelled like cherries. Steve looked at her sternly. She was speaking in her very-much-not-sick voice, the voice that usually made Steve wobble and relent in an instant. “Dolly,” he cooed softly, “It’s nighttime, you need to sleep - no reading now, okay?”

“But you’re reading to Tony!” Wanda pointed out, whining.  
Steve sighed and looked at the sleeping boy on the sofa, book laid out next to him. He bit his lip, stroked the top of her head with one hand. It... it was still the early hours, so... so maybe she’d fall asleep once he started to read? And if he was staying here with Tony anyway...  
He sighed again, rubbed his temple - tiredness pulsing somewhere in his head. “Alright dolly, come sit next to Daddy.”  
She sat; and there they were. Tony with his head in Steve’s lap, Wanda squeezed up tight on Daddy’s left, and the book balancing precariously on Daddy’s right. Steve flipped to the next page from where he had left off, and began reading once more. “After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately ran into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket...”  
Steve’s own voice was heavy now, and slow with tiredness. He got to the end of the page, where Peter had gotten lost and given in to crying, before his voice frayed and gave out.  
Tony was sleeping, breathing calm, chest steady.  
Wanda was sleeping, chest rising and falling steadily, soft hums occasionally coming from her mouth.  
Steve set down the story book, nestled his head against the back of the sofa, and he too was out like a light.  
~

“Mr. Coulson,” Loki murmured thoughtfully the next day, swinging his legs as he sat at the table and looked around it carefully - taking it all in as his friends alternated between scribbling on paper and messily feeding themselves spoonfuls of baked beans. Wanda, Scott, himself, Clint, Bruce...  
There... was someone missing from the dinner table today. “Where is Anthony?”

“Tony is sick, kiddo.” Coulson explained gently as he wiped the corner of Scott’s mouth and helped him cut up his potato waffles. “I think he got a fever after sharing a bath with you.”

The look Loki gave Coulson - a look of pure heartbreak, as though he had been punched low in the stomach and had knocked all of the air out of himself - made Coulson wish he hadn’t mentioned that little detail. At least he wasn’t tuning blue. “Oh,” Loki said softly before Coulson could get a word in edgeways, frowning and gripping his knife and fork tighter as if that would stop the tears from forming in his eyes. Instead he sunk low in his chair, silent, musing to himself as he made his fork run lines through his baked beans. His fault. Always his fault. Midgardians... always so fragile. Thor said that Midgardians got sicker than Asgardians, and that Asgardians rarely fell ill. Loki had Jotunn blood, and even he faired stronger than a Midgardian. What... what if Anthony didn’t get better? What if..? That... that would make him a...  
His breath caught in his throat at the thought.  
“Mr Coulson?” He asked. “Is Anthony going to get better?”  
They had lots of playtime to be getting on with. Loki had promised to teach Tony how to be a Valkyrie, and how to practise magic, and in return Tony had promised to sneak in his repulsors... which Loki was most interested in. But with Tony so ill, they had no time to train..!

“Of course he is, Loki!” Coulson cooed comfortingly, nodding.  
Loki looked unsurely at the elder... well... he hadn’t been wrong before so... maybe Anthony would come back soon. He sniffled softly. “When is he going to return?” he asked, spooning a smiley face potato into his mouth and chewing quietly.  
This, Coulson didn’t have an answer to. Steve had been sending in records of Tony’s health on the day to day but at the moment there was no clear answer as to whether Tony would be back soon. “I’m not sure, kiddo.” He admitted, tidying away the children’s empty plates. “Would you like dessert? It’s jello. And it has glitter in!”

“No thank you, Mr. Coulson,” Loki murmured, hopping down from his chair and looking at the floor. “I would... I would like to go home now, please.” He requested politely, wringing his hands a little. Coulson watched him and sighed, looking at the clock. Thor would still be busy at the moment... there was no way of getting Loki home unless he proved he was grown up enough to go home by himself - and judging by Loki’s attitude he... wasn’t quite there yet. “Okay, Loki.” Coulson relented. “I am just going to serve the rest of the children their jello. Why don’t you go off to the art and craft corner and chill out for a bit?” He encouraged - most relieved when Loki was appeased and disappeared off all by himself.

Twenty five minutes passed, jello had been eaten, Thor was returning, and Loki had spent the entire time lost in his own world scribbling on a piece of blue card covered in red and green glitter.  
“That looks wonderful, Loki!” said a voice, and Loki smiled as he realised it was Thor. “Thank you, Brother,” he whispered, glancing toward Thor with a look of pure adoration on his face. “It is for Anthony, who got sick.” He nodded, looking pensive at his artwork before glancing tentatively at Thor once more. “May we go and give him it right now?”  
Thor nodded, large hand on the small of Loki’s back and urging him to stand (which he did, clutching his glittery picture in one hand) “I think he would like that very much, Loki.”  
~

“Mr. Steve!” Loki said plaintively as Steve opened the door and found Loki stood rocking on his heels on the doorstep, hands behind his back. Steve looked with amusement from Loki to Thor, who was stood behind him. Thor opened his mouth, but Loki spoke first. “Mr. Steve, I am here to see Anthony.” The child thrust out the picture he had made. “I made this for him. I am sorry I made him ill.” He said sincerely, grasping Steve’s hand.

“That’s fine, Loki. I think he’s getting better..” Steve laughed softly, giving Loki’s hand a small squeeze. “Come on in.”

Loki did, and promptly launched over to a dozing Tony on the couch, who blinked in sleepy surprise at him. “Tony!” The little God yelped, clear as a bell. Thor chuckled, going to his brother’s side. “Brother, hush,” he crooned softly, “Tony isn’t feeling well.”  
Loki ‘oh’ed softly. “Tony,” he whispered again, holding out the picture. “I made this for you.”

With some help from Steve Tony sat up, rubbing his dizzy forehead and pulling the damp locks of his fringe out of his eyes. “Wowie,” was his sleepy response, and he smiled. Loki smiled, too. “It’s me, and you, and magic and Valkyries and the Iron Man suit.” He explained excitedly, pointing out every glittery blob just in case Tony was too sick to comprehend it.  
Tony nodded as enthusiastically as he could manage. Loki beamed and turned his attention to Steve. “Steven,” he said - making sure to use his politest voice - “Tony said that I was allowed to use his repulsors. Can I take them now?” He requested innocently. They looked like fun, and the technology was most interesting. He seemed not to notice the bewildered look Steve and his big brother were sharing. 

“Uhhh... m’afraid they aren’t for playing with, kiddo.” Steve said sympathetically, ruffling Loki’s hair. He noticed the droop in Loki’s shoulders and, wide eyed, quickly tried to change the subject. “But that’s a great picture, isn’t it, Tony?”  
(A nod)  
“I think we should pin it up on the fridge.” Steve beamed.  
(More nods - from Tony and a delighted Loki this time.)

Thor chuckled, bringing his little brother close to him. “There, see Loki? I bet Tony will be better soon. We’d better leave him to sleep it all off and get some naptime for ourselves, hm?”

Loki nodded hesitantly, watching Tony drift in and out of sleep as he was ushered to the doorway by his big brother. Steve followed, waving the two Gods off. “Don’t worry, Loki, I’ll bring Tony in as soon as he feels better. And your big brother is bringing Wanda home later on, so you can see him then, yes?” He cooed reassuringly. Loki nodded again, eagerly, as he waved and waved all the way out of the Tower. Maybe if he concentrated very hard and used all of his magic he could make Tony better by the time they returned Wanda home later on. Oh, Loki really did hope so. He really did want Anthony to feel better... and he wanted to see those repulsors, too. But mostly, Anthony had to be better. 

On second thought, those repulsors...

**Author's Note:**

> Glittery jelly really truly exists, y’all! Oh how I craved it while I was writing tonight: http://www.hartleysfruit.co.uk/our-range/hartleys-jelly/hartleys-glitter-jelly/ 
> 
> I do so much think that little Tony would love being read Winnie the Pooh and Beatrix Potter, classics like that. I think Jarvis would definitely influence that, I think he’d have been read books like that by Jarvis over and over and over as a child. It’s a headcanon I share with a friend of mine. I explored it just a little in my other Tony fic, multiples of three. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355869/chapters/35631669
> 
> Please comment and kudos if you enjoyed this. It really makes my day and gets me enthusiastic to write more :)
> 
> (For every kudos/comment I’ll send you some glittery jelly)


End file.
